


Triple Holmes

by cumberbabeswillrise



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Multi, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock - Freeform, sister!lock, sisterlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberbabeswillrise/pseuds/cumberbabeswillrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years after Sherlock's death. John's still deeply disturbed by his friend's suicide. He notices something in his apartment... something odd. He asks Lestrade, who sends him to India to pick up the mysterious 'Marlena'. John meets the woman who literally changes his life forever. Sherlock's sister is very, very pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The wanker isn't really dead.

John Watson slowly walked up the stairs to 221B Baker Street, his cane tapping on the old wood, weary from the days work. He'd led a long day of crying children and annoying people. He was done dealing with these idiots. Christ, he was starting to sound like Sherlock.  
Sherlock. John hadn't thought of him in a few months. John felt the pang in his chest as he thought of his dear friend. He always received a pain in his heart whenever he was stupid enough to think of Sherlock. Knowing that Sherlock's death was his fault was hard, but watching him die? It haunted John to his very core. His PTSD was worse. He couldn't sleep for nightmares. He felt that maybe he could've done more to stop Sherlock from jumping. It had been over three years, yet John still felt responsible for his friend's death.   
As John emptied his bags onto the kitchen table, his pen dropped out of his jacket pocket. He bent down to retrieve it from the floor when he noticed one of the kitchen chairs had recently been moved. A little peg sized hole in the dust was showing. The chair had definitely been moved. John never moved the kitchen chairs, he only sat in the plush chair that resided in the living room.  
Slowly, he stood up and examined the small flat he'd shared with Sherlock Holmes. The papers on the tables hadn't been moved. His bills were still stacked in the same place as always. John moved to the bookshelf. The books were no longer in alphabetical order (Patterson was next to Hugo.) The plush chair John so often sat in didn't look any different. The long, purple couch Sherlock would throw himself down on was still covered in dust. His breath catching in his throat, John scanned the couch closely. The dust had been stirred.   
Moving to Sherlock's room, John circled the boxes filled with Sherlock's things. He could smell the musky scent of his clothes. John opened a small box in the corner of the room. It had been filled with Sherlock's trademark trench coat. As John opened the box, he felt his heart flutter with hope. The coat was gone.


	2. I hate him.

Later, John paced the living room. Only one person would want to wear that silly trenchcoat. John had searched other boxes and found Sherlock's scarf gone as well. He could imagine his friend, smiling as he unfolded his trademark clothes. He could see Sherlock winding the long scarf around his neck and waltzing out of the front door.   
Could Sherlock be alive? Would he really have pulled a stunt like this? John's heart was racing a mile a minute. The yanker wouldn't have done this to him. Sherlock wouldn't have made John watch him die.  
Sherlock had basically saved John from himself. John had been depressed, sad and alone. Then came Sherlock, strutting into John's life, deducing everyone left and right. John had been amazed. The way Sherlock had been able to deduce that he'd been in the army, his psychosomatic limp, even that his sister was a drunk. After a while, when John had grown used to Sherlock's antics, he took them for granted. Now he missed Sherlock's sociopathic, if charming ways. Since Sherlock's death, John's limp had returned and was steadily getting worse.  
Unable to stay in his memory-filled apartment, John walked downstairs and knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door.   
She smiled when she saw him, a plate of cookies in her hands. She'd made him a batch of cookies every few weeks since Sherlock's death.  
"Hello John," Mrs. Hudson said, handing him a cookie. "how are you?"  
"I'm fine, Mrs. Hudson." Would she know if Sherlock was alive? "You would tell me... if Sherlock had... in any way..." John trailed off. He didn't know how to ask her a question like this.  
"Yes, son?" Her smile wavered. She looked nervous. "If Sherlock had what?"  
"Nothing. Nevermind. I'd wondered if you'd known where he'd left the broom. I haven't been able to find it. Now, I remember that I put it in the hall closet. Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Hudson." He turned to leave.  
"John," He turned around to face the old woman, she looked genuinely concerned. She wouldn't have done something like this to him. "I know this has been hard on you. Sherlock was like a son to me, as are you. I miss him dearly. It's almost the four year anniversary of his death and I understand if you're feeling down. But remember, he'd kick your arse if he knew you were being so dopey, son." She smiled and handed him the cookies, shutting the door behind her.  
John felt ashamed of himself. Sherlock would make such fun of him if he saw John acting like this. Moping around for four years, yet no one had the guts to say anything to him. Sherlock would've long since said something to him.   
"Come on John," He'd exclaim, whilst sitting on his favorite, purple sofa. "You're being boring. You hear me, John? BORING! I can't take it anymore, I can feel my brain shrinking from lack of excercise. I'm turning into Anderson!" Anderson was an irritating medical examiner to whom Sherlock had an open distaste for.  
John decided that he needed air. He sped out of 221B Baker Street and walked with his head down. He thrust his hands angrily in his pockets and went swiftly down the street. He felt the anger bubbling up inside of him like lava. He was so bloody mad at Sherlock. Why do this? To him, of all people?  
If Sherlock was alive, John was going to beat the shit out of him. Oh, was he going to give him a talking to. John felt tears welling up in his eyes. He was so bloody frustrated, he didn't deserve this.   
John turned a corner and searched for a coffee shop. He could use some food. He hadn't eaten or slept much in the past few years. He found a coffee shop and ordered a latte and some biscuits to go. He was waiting in line when he heard a familiar voice behind him.  
"John. Fancy seeing you here." John turned around to see Detective Inspector Lestrade smiling at him. "Haven't seen you in a few months, we'd like to have you consult on a few cases." Lestrade's salt-and-pepper hair was now mostly salt.  
John flushed, "Yes, sorry. I've been quite busy." A lie. But, who'd know? "My practice has been booming lately."  
"We do miss you down at Scotland Yard. We could use an old face down there, and I mean it in the fondest of terms." He smiled again.  
John grabbed his food from the counter and walked with Lestrade to a table. "You're not looking so bad yourself, Lestrade."  
"How've you been?" Lestrade asked sincerely, John could see he genuinely cared. Did he know if Sherlock was alive? Would he tell him if he did?  
"Good. I've been good."   
"You've lost weight. And a lot of it. Bags under your eyes, clothes hanging off of you. Don't lie to me, John Watson. I may be ignorant, but I'm not stupid."  
John smiled, "Don't those basically mean the same thing?"   
Lestrade winked at him and took a sip of his coffee, "Exactly. Look, John, I've gotten a few calls. People are worried about you. I know you think that Sherlock Holmes was the only person who really cared about you, but there are many, many more. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, even myself. I just want you to be happy, to be able to live life like you should. Sherlock would've wanted that."   
John visibly winced at Sherlock's name. Mrs. Hudson had called Lestrade, no doubt. "I know. You're the second person to mention him to me today. His trenchcoat and scarf are missing from his room. They were there a few months ago. Some chairs have been moved around, dust has been unsettled from his things."  
Lestrade looked nervous. "Maybe someone broke into your flat."  
"No, no. See, nothing else was stolen but the coat and scarf. I only know one person who would wear that silly ensemble. Sherlock. Sherlock fucking Holmes. The chairs had been moved, but I only would've noticed them by some small chance, and I did notice. Someone was careful not to give me any reason to suspect."  
"Well, thieves generally know how to do that." Lestrade spoke slowly, his eyes fighting to stay calm.   
"Hmm. Is he really dead?" John felt like he was about to explode. He'd never even thought that Sherlock might be alive. He'd wished it, but he hadn't put much hope into it. He'd been so stupid.  
Lestrade looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "Of course he's dead. You saw him jump. You saw his blood covering the pavement. You saw his body being carried away."  
"See, that's the thing," John felt his voice rising. "I was hit by a bike, knocked down on my arse. When I finally stood back up, Sherlock was being carried away. I was pushed away before I could check his pulse." John's breath quickened and his temper was rising. "Don't lie to me, Lestrade. If he's alive, I have a right to know."   
People were staring now, "John, please calm down." Lestrade looked nervous, "I need you to calm down. I have a favor I have to ask of you. And before you get even angrier, let me ask this favor. Then I'll tell you what you need to know."  
John didn't understand. He didn't want to calm down, but he wanted to know the truth. "Fine. Speak."  
"I need you to go to India. Before you say anything, just listen to me. There's something I need. I need you to find a girl for me. Her name is Marlena. She lives there and I've heard wind that some bad people are coming after her. I can't go because I'll be recognized. They don't know you, John. You could save her life. You're one of the only people I know who could do this, who I trust to do this."  
John was completely aghast. This was so random. By the look of Lestrade's face, however, it wasn't random at all. This girl knew something, and Lestrade didn't want to be the one to betray Sherlock to give him answers.   
Reluctantly, John looked him in the eye, "I'll do it."


	3. Marlena

John went with Lestrade back to Scotland Yard. He hadn't been there in almost four years. It was like walking into a memory. He could almost see Sherlock Holmes ranting about how everyone in the office read John's blog.   
He was greeted with shocked, friendly faces. People saying hello, saying he should come around more often. John saw that they were struggling just as much as he was. They missed him just as much as he missed them. John followed Lestrade into his office and sat down in front of the familiar desk.  
"What are the details of this 'favor'?" John asked, not caring how rude he sounded. He had a right to be rude, they'd lied to him.   
"Her name is Marlena. She's twenty six, legally a genius. Graduated from college when she was twelve, spent two tours in Afghanistan. She was an assassin for the army. One of the best. She even lived in Africa for a while. She's in India now, working with the poor. She's not aware that someone is out to get her. I need someone who can find her and get her back here. I've spoken to her about you. Don't give me that look, John, she's been looking forward to meeting you for some time. She told me you sound like someone worth listening to. Believe me, she's a complicated woman of sorts."  
"You want me to just run off to India? To find some girl I've never met? A woman who could get me killed?" John was doubtful, but he needed the excitement.  
"Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do. Marlena's odd. She goes about things in her own way. I don't know what to do besides this. I have to get her back soon." Lestrade threw a file over the table. It was as thick as a Webster's Dictionary.  
"This is Marlena's file. Her picture is in there, along with her last known wherabouts. You leave in one week. You have three days to find her. Pack for a hot few days."   
John took the file without looking at it. He walked straight out of Scotland Yard and took a cab home. He held the file tightly under his arm as he went home. Anxious to look inside it, John immediately opened it when he walked inside his flat. He opened it on the table and gasped audibly.  
The girl looked remarkably familiar. She had pale green eyes, dark hair and pale skin. She was smiling in the picture, her curly hair framing her face. She wasn't society's version of beautiful. She had high cheekbones, full lips and big eyes. But, she was beautiful.  
As John flipped through her file, he couldn't help but think of Indiana Jones. Marlena had found many treasures during her adventures. At age fourteen she uncovered an Egyptian treasure woth hundreds of billions of dollars. She kept a small amount, enough to pay for a friend's way through college, and gave the rest to charities and Egyptian museums. She'd participated in theatre growing up. Starring in many plays and musicals. Her file said she had a spectacular singing voice.   
Marlena's file had a lot of information about her travels, but none on her family or personal life. It didn't seem as though anything was in there besides newspaper articles, and books written on her. She never sat down for interviews. The whole file was about her adventures, but not her. Marlena kept her personal life a secret, John doubted whether or not the government even knew her last name. The file sure didn't tell him what it was.  
John stayed up late into the night looking at Marlena's file. She had been everywhere. After college, she traveled until she was eighteen. Six years to travel sounded pretty good to John. Two weeks after she came home from the military, her brother died. His name wasn't stated in the file.  
When he learned all he could about Marlena No Name, John went to bed. He slept badly. His dreams were a combination of Sherlock and Marlena, their faces becoming one. John kept dreaming of Sherlock's fall, his brain trying to pick up new details, things he could have missed.   
After telling his office that he'd be gone, John set up his flight to India, also researching Marlena. Since she had no last name, he didn't find anything. John slept fitfully the rest of the week. Only the night before his flight to India did he sleep well. He woke up refreshed and awake, anxious for the next three days. He made his way to the airport, the file tucked into a satchel, which was held tightly in his hand. He didn't know who might want to steal it, so he kept it close.   
John kept a close eye on everything around him. He watched for anyone who looked suspicious, anyone who was watching him. Someone bumped into him as he walked to his terminal, almost making him drop his satchel.   
Checking that he still had his tickets and wallet, John went to board the plane. He tried to study his surroundings as well as he could, so far, no one suspicious was on the plane.   
John noticed a rather tall, pale individual board the plane. He had a turban on, John couldn't see his face but for his eyes. They were watching John, he could feel the man's eyes bore into his head as the man passed him. The man sat down in the seat behind John, his pale hands buckling his seatbelt. John cursed, he'd wanted to get a better look at the man, now he couldn't. Immediately, John knew he couldn't leave anything to chance. He had to focus his energy on the man behind him, he could make a move.   
John had never particularly liked planes, even in the military, he never got used to them. Granted, military chopters are different than airplanes, but he still preferred to stay on the ground.   
John hoped that the plane ride would be uneventful, he didn't need any more stress. He wanted to lay his head back and take a nap, but he had to keep an eye on the man with the turban.   
After the flight attendant gave the introduction and the plane ascended, John finally relaxed. So far so good. No one's tried to kill him yet. If this had been a plane ride with Sherlock, someone would have already started throwing knives.   
When the plane landed, John breathed a sigh of relief. He left the plane as quickly as he could. He didn't want to stick around if anything happened. The man in the turban walked the same way the John did. John tried to keep track of him without attracting any attention to himself.   
John left the airport and hobbled into a cab. He gave the driver Marlena's last known address, and off they went. India was a mass of colors and shapes, whizzing by at a mile a minute. John was momentarily disoriented when his cab started weaving in and out of traffic. The buildings became a blur, John had a hard time making anything out.   
When the cab eventually came to a stop, John felt like he was going to be sick. They were outside of a large house. Before stepping out of the cab, John looked for the man with the turban. There was no sign of him. John threw some money to the cabbie and took in the sight before him.  
He was in an obviously rich neighborhood. John stood in front of a large house with many windows. It was smaller than the rest of the houses by far, but it had a Louisana-type feel to it. It had a wrap around porch and black shutters. John smiled when he saw it. All of the other houses in the neighborhood had ornate Indian looks to them. This woman deffinitely did things her own way.  
John made his way up to the front porch and knocked three times on the door. He felt nervous, not knowing who would answer the door. A young Indian woman answered, she looked at him cautiously, like he was unwelcome.  
"May I help you, sir?" She asked, her voice shaking.  
John tried to sound as friendly as possible. "Yes, if you will. I'm looking for Marlena."  
The girl's eyes narrowed. "And who sent you, if I may be so bold."  
"Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade." John gave her a smile of satisfaction as her eyes narrowed more. She reluctantly let him inside.  
"Madame is in the back yard. She's working in her shed. I'll take you to her." She turned and walked away from him without saying another word.   
"Thank you," John whispered to her. He was in awe of the house. It deffinitely didn't look like an Indian home. The furnishings were all English, the walls a deep cherry red. The cherry wood floors were beautifully polished, as were the wooden stairs.   
The back yard was even more magnificent. There were ten foot tall square hedges all around them. John noticed that it was a large maze. There were ornate benches on each side of the dirt path. Roses intertwined the bushes and bloomed beautifully. They were in various colors of yellow, red, white, and even pink. Some of the roses were purple or blue. John figured they must have dyed them. John limped behind her, his cane sometimes tangling in the grass. John noticed that the Indian girl trailed her hand on the left hedge as she guided them along.   
"Keeping to left is what will keep you alive in these types of mazes. It's the only thing that will get you out. Same with glass mirrors in funhouses." She gave him an assuring smile and motioned for him to walk next to her instead of behind her.   
"My lady is odd. She goes about things her own ways. She's a genius, set apart from the rest of the world, my words, not hers. Lady Marlena is the bravest, smartest, and greatest person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. She retreated here after her brother died a few years ago. Even though they rarely spoke, she was heartbroken when she heard of his death. She attended his funeral from afar, having me attend for her. I understand that Lestrade sent you?"  
"Yes, he did. He asked me to collect her and bring her back to London."   
"I hope he isn't calling her back to hash out old things from her past. She wouldn't like it much. I'm Zaria, by the way." She squeezed his hand assuringly.  
"John Watson. I'm not sure what Lestrade wants with her, he just said some people are after her and I needed to bring her back to London." John tried to speak levely, he was nervous to meet this woman. The only other geniuses he'd ever met were Sherlock, Moriarty, and Mycroft, and they were all men. He'd never met a female genius... geniuette?  
They took another turn and in front of them stood a large shed. There were many objects thrown about outside of it. Pots and boxes of all sorts. There were tools and old machines that were obviously hand-made strewn about.  
"My lady is inside. Knock thrice before entering." Zaria nodded at him and turned back toward the house. Her right hand on the hedge, guiding her home.   
Cautiously, John limped toward the shed. It's red, wooden walls were peeling. It looked more like a barn than a shed, it was deffinitely larger than a shed. Even larger than a barn. John knocked three times on the door. It swung open immediately.  
Slowly, John made his way inside. There were many other machines in the corners of the barn. John noticed a motorcycle in the far right corner, a Harley Davidson of sorts. John had never been good with names of vehicles.   
"Hello? My name is John Watson, I was sent here by Lestrade. I-I've been sent to collect you." John called out into the dark recesses of the barn.  
"Collect me?" A female voice called from the shadows, "Like a small child? Doesn't Lestrade know I'm a fully capable adult?"  
"Uh, yes. I'm sure he knows that." John tried to pinpoint the voice's location, but it seemed to come from all around him.  
"Hmm. Well, John Hamish Watson, would you like to tell me the entire reason as to why you're here?"  
"How'd you know-?" John didn't care anymore. He was more annoyed than astonished. "Whatever. I agreed to collect you in exchange for information."  
"Information? Sounds interesting. May I ask what about?" The voice had the slightest hint of amusement.  
"It's personal, if you don't mind." John didn't feel like sharing his inquiry with a stranger.  
"Oh, Johnny Boy! If we're to be traveling together, we'll have to trust one another."  
"Information on a friend's wherabouts." John told her reluctantly. He moved toward the ladder in the barn that led to the loft. She was most likely up there.  
"I'm not up there, John. I'm here." She stepped out of the darkness. The girl looked exactly like her picture, except it didn't do her any favors. She was much more beautiful in person. Her pale green eyes stood out against the darkness of the barn, her curly hair framing her face. Her full lips and large eyes gave her the impression of innocence, though John knew she was far from it. She wore long shorts and a grease-stained t-shirt. The only difference between her picture and real life, was that her skin was no longer pale, but a light caramel. Living in India, rather than England, had it's advantages.  
"Hello." John stood aghast at the sight of her. He awkwardly held out his hand for her to shake. She gave him an amused look and took it.  
"Hi. Marlena Holmes, any friend of Lestrade's is a friend of mine." She smiled as John gazed at her in shock. "What?" she asked him quizzically.  
"Uhm. You-Your last name. Did you know a Sherlock Holmes?" John kept stuttering, he was becoming flustered.  
Marlena narrowed her eyes, "Yes. Yes, I did. He was my older brother. You were his friend? Good ol' Doctor Watson? He told me all about you. Sent me a picture of you, just in case. You were the only friend he ever had." She smiled sadly at the memory.  
"He never told me about you." John didn't know what to say. "I never knew you existed."  
"Yes, well, I was the rebel of the family. Sherlock was the brains, Mycroft the stiff. We weren't on very good terms but he wrote to me about you once. When he first met you, he was so excited. He was tickled pink by you." She smiled again.   
"Oh, I wish I had known someone else who knew him. Someone who knew more about him." John shifted uneasily. "It's nice to know someone else took his death as hard as I did."  
"That easy to tell, huh? Yes, well, he was my favorite brother. He's the only one who stood up against mummy for me. As the only girl in the family, I was supposed to be prim and proper. I wasn't, that was Mycroft. Sherlock was the ass. I, the rebel." She shifted nervously too. "Would you like me to show you to a room? I've got plenty. It's just Zaria, Raj and I who live here. Raj is the butler, Zaria is my head maid. You met Zaria?"  
"Yes," John laughed. "she's a real treat."   
Marlena smiled at him, then held out her hand for him to take. "Come, I'll show you the house."


	4. Q

Later, after Marlena had taken John to his room, they all gathered for dinner in the dining room. They sat around a large circular table together. Raj, a tall, imposing man, had brought out red wine and poured a glass for everyone.   
Raj and Zaria had known Marlena since childhood, both their families worked for the Holmes'. They were all three the same age. When they were all eighteen, Raj and Zaria wanted to be married. Their parents voted against it. Marlena took them to India with her and had them married there. They'd both accompanied her on all of her travels. When Zaria contracted scarlet fever, they settled here.   
Even though Zaria recovered, they all decided to stay in India. Marlena built the house with Raj and Zaria and built it around them. She wanted them to have a home to raise children in.   
Marlena had changed into long shorts and a white tank top for dinner, she smiled at John as she sat down.  
"So, will you come to England with me?" John asked her after they'd finished eating.  
"Yes. I will. I haven't been there in almost four years. I've some business to attend to before we leave." She pulled her legs up onto the chair to sit Indian-style. "I have a small... party to attend."  
"Party? Sounds exciting." Raj and Zaria exchanged glances, thinking John hadn't seen them. He looked at them quizzically.  
"Yes. It shall be exciting. Would you like to accompany me? You could do with some adventure." Marlena smiled at him as she took a sip of her wine.  
"I haven't got any clothes for a party."   
"Oh, we aren't invited, John. We're crashing the party." Her smiled broadened, "Just wear something comfortable." 

 

John spent the next day roaming the maze with Marlena. She was exceedingly fun to be around. Her peculiar ways were entertaining. She saw the world with a different, yet similar way than her brother.   
"I had these hedges planted for my own fun. So I could experiment without people spying on me. You'd think snooping old ladies only existed in England, right? In India, they're just as bad!" She had her sandals in one hand, using her other to talk animatedly. She had her long, curly hair swept up into a high pony tail, keeping it out of her face.   
"I admit, I hadn't expected to stay in this house for so long." She turned to look at him, her green eyes full of sadness.  
"Why not? It's beautiful." John smiled down at her. She was very short, though obviously stealthy and quick. She could only have been about five feet tall.  
"I built it for them, not me. I wanted Raj and Zaria to raise children here. I wanted them to have a friendly place to grow up, unlike me. My house was like a museum, no room for child's play." She kept her eyes on his, her gaze piercing him to his core. "They deserve it. They worked their whole lives in my family's house. They deserve to have a home for themselves. If we were still in England, they'd probably be living in a one-room flat.  
"Zaria is my oldest friend. She was my best growing up, still is. I was my brothers' favorite sibling, but not my mother's favorite child. It bothered me growing up, she helped me through it. I'm talking too much. What about your childhood? How was it?" She tried to hide her face, red from embarrassment.  
John didn't want to upset her. His childhood had been abusive, neglectful and sad. As had hers, but he didn't want her to feel like everyone's had been that way.  
"It was fine. I grew up in a poor family. But we were fine. I joined the military when I was young, then spent two tours in Afghanistan. When I came back, your brother became my flat mate. He saved me from myself. Helped me adjust." John squeezed her hand reassuringly. "So, when are we crashing this party?"  
"In a few hours. I've got a game plan all set." Her face lit up with excitement. "First, we'll sneak in through the back. It's a club, not really a party. I know a few of the dancers there, they'll let us in. Then, we'll find Big Q," She smiled at him, eyes glowing. "he's the head honcho there. He's the guy we're targeting. He's sending people after me. If I find him, I can stop the assassins from coming near me."   
Marlena stopped walking. "I'm warning you now that I'm going to kill him. He's killed many of the peasants in the bazaar. He exploits them and then kills them when they can't pay up. Their famillies too." She looked John in the eyes, searching him.   
John thought for a moment, "I'm game. He's the one sending assassins after you?"  
"Yes, he has for years. They were fun to play with for a while, but now have become a sort of nuissance." She clenched her fists. "They killed Raj's family because of me. I'm ending it. Tonight."  
John looked her in the eyes for a long while. She had a lot of Sherlock in her, she had his fight. She obviously had no clue as to whether or not he was alive. Her eyes were too sad, too much like his. 

 

On their cab ride to the club, John felt Marlena watching him closely.  
"When Sherlock... killed himself, did he tell you why?" She asked, her eyes full of wonder.  
"He told me he was a fake, that he'd created Moriarty for his own use.That I was to tell everyone how big of a fake he was. I was standing on the street where he landed. I was on the phone with him when he jumped." John felt the pain in his chest.  
She scoffed, "What a liar. Moriarty... he was an annoying insect who kept buzzing in Sher's face. He lied. Were there any assassins trained on you?"  
John laughed. "Not everyone is trailed by assassins day and night."  
"You'd think that would be the case, wouldn't you? You'd be suprised by how many people are killed by assassins. You see it referred to as an 'accident' in the news." She put her fist under her chin, thinking. "Maybe he was trying to save you. Sherlock would do something like that. Maybe..." She turned to the window, her face twisted in concentration.   
John had never thought of that before. Had Sherlock been trying to save him? It didn't make sense, Moriarty had killed himself before Sherlock jumped. Sherlock wouldn't have anything to fear with Moriarty dead. Did Moriarty have a failsafe planned? John's mind was racing with possibilities.   
"I miss him, too." John whispered, as he clasped her hand softly. "I miss him, too."

The rest of the cab ride was ridden in silence. Marlena handed the cabbie money as they stepped out, thanking him for the swift ride. She told him to stay parked outside of the club for when they came out. She'd pay him extra if he left the car running.  
They went around the back of the club. Marlena gave an intricate knock on the door. A woman dressed in an intricately woven tunic answered the door. She smiled at Marlena, a relieved look on her face.   
"Quickly, come inside."   
Marlena grabbed John's hand in hers and stepped through the door. She didn't let go of his hand, instead keeping it held tightly in hers. She intertwined her fingers with his and pulled him closely to her side.   
"Stay by me, John. Don't trust anyone here. We're going to play it cool."  
Marlena led him to the bar, where she sat on a stool and motioned for him to do the same. She called the bartender over to her.  
"May I help you, madame?" The bartender smiled at her.  
"Yes. I'm looking for Q. We were recommended by Nisami." Marlena smiled back at him.   
The bartender looked her up and down, then motioned for her to follow him.  
Marlena grabbed his hand again, this time putting it around her waist. "We have to pretend like we're married." She said as she slipped a ring onto his finger. "Like we need financial help. Q 'helps' the poor, then he makes them pay him back in the worst ways possible." She was dressed in jeans and a tank top, her long curly hair cascading down her back. She wore no makeup, trying to look like low class.  
The bartender led them to a large room in the back of the club. He opened the door for them, ushering them inside. He nodded to them, then closed the door behind them.  
Inside the room, there was a large bed with elaborate sheets. Large, plush pillows lined the sides of it. Two people sat in the middle of the bed. A man and a woman. The man only looked about fifty years old, the girl looked twenty.   
Marlena smiled at them, "Are you Q?" she asked.  
The man looked Marlena up and down hungrily. "Yes, I am. Who are you?"   
Marlena simply looked at him. With one quick movement, she whipped a gun from underneath her shirt and aimed it at Q. The girl screamed and ducked behind him.   
"Name's Marlena Holmes." Then, she pulled the trigger.   
Everything happened at once. The girl started screaming again and the door burst open. Three men with guns ran through it. Marlena turned around and fired three shots, each making their target. She looked at him and said one word.   
"Run." Grabbing his hand, she pulled him through the doorway. The club was completely empty. They'd known they were coming.  
"Shit."   
As she said it, twenty more men stepped out of the shadows, each with their own weapon. John's instincts kicked in. Grabbing the gun from Marlena's hand, he fired as many rounds as he could, each bullet making it's mark. From the corner of his eye, John saw Marlena smiling as she pulled another gun from her boot. She started firing and pushed him out of the club, both of them dodging bullets as they went.   
Marlena grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the cab, John firing off bullets behind him. She pulled him inside and yelled at the cabbie to step on it. They sped off, leaving the armed men far behind them.   
"Well," Marlena exclaimed, filled with adreneline. John saw her hands shaking. "Glad I got that over with. You didn't limp once. Psychosomatic, huh? Adreneline will get rid of that in a heart beat. Didn't expect the extra security. You okay?" She looked at him, her eyes filled with concern.   
In truth, John was okay. What happened hadn't bothered him one bit. He was used to bloodshed, used to seeing people die. You get over death fairly quickly when you're an army doctor.   
"I'm fine." He said, grabbing her shaking hands. "Nothing I never went through with your brother."  
She smiled, "Sherlock knew how to have fun, didn't he?"  
"Yes," John said wearily, "yes, he did."  
"Did? I still do." Said a voice from the front seat.   
John and Marlena both looked up from their laps at the same time, then at eachother. The cabbie pulled into Marlena's drive and put the car in park. He stepped out of the cab and opened Marlena's door. He held out his hand for Marlena to take. Cautiously, she took hold of his hand and John's at the same time, pulling John out of the cab behind her.  
When they were both standing in front of the cabbie, he took off his turban. John should have noticed those long white fingers. Those pale green eyes. John could tell Marlena was thinking the same thing. His curly hair was cropped still the same. His cheekbones higher than ever.   
Sherlock Holmes hadn't changed one bit.


	5. The bastard.

Marlena looked at him with a look of mixed anger and amazement. John knew he looked the same.  
"First, I wou-" Sherlock didn't get to finish. Marlena had punched him in the face. Now, the man they'd known to be dead, was lying on the ground, holding his eye.   
"Alright, I deserved that." He said, standing up. "John," He threw his arms around John, hugging him tightly. "I've missed you, friend."   
Marlena still hadn't said anything. She was staring at the ground, her hands in her pockets.   
"Lee?" Sherlock said cautiously, "It's me, Sherlock. Would you look at me, Lee?" He tried to put his hand on her shoulder, but she shied away, angry.   
"There's an extra room you can sleep in." She whispered, wiping blood off of the back of her hand. "It's late, I'm going to bed." Marlena turned around and walked toward the house, her hands still in her pockets. She shoved open the door of her house and quickly went inside.   
John couldn't say anything. If Marlena hadn't been there, he'd have thought himself mad. Sherlock Holmes had been dead ten minutes ago, now he was alive. John wasn't sure he could ever forgive this man, this amazing man who'd saved John's life. John reached out and touched his face, just to make sure it was him, to make sure he wasn't a mirage. John recoiled when he felt the warm skin, not wanting to believe his best friend had lied to him.   
Sherlock was thin, much thinner than he was four years ago. Borderline emaciated. He had the look of someone who'd lived on the streets, someone who had succumbed to the masking agent of drugs. Sherlock's eyes were sunken in, making his cheekbones even more prominent. John didn't know whether to be angry at him or feel sorry for him.   
"Why?" Was all John could choke out.   
Sherlock looked at him wearily, "It's a long story, John. One that has waited for four years, that can wait until the morning."   
"She's never going to forgive you." John told him. "She's far too pissed."  
"I know," Sherlock sighed. "I messed up. Not just with her, but with the both of you. I'm so, so sorry, John."  
"I should hope so." John wouldn't look at him, it hurt far too much.  
John led Sherlock inside to an empty room and told him goodnight. Before he left for his own room, Sherlock spoke to him again.  
"I did it for all of you. If I hadn't done it, Moriarty would have killed all of you." John turned around to face him. Sherlock looked tired, his eyes weren't as bright as they used to be. "I'm sorry that I waited this long to tell you. That I didn't let any of them tell you about me. I wanted to keep you to myself, John. I'm sorry I was so selfish."  
"I just want to know why. The whole story, no skirting around the truth." Sherlock opened his mouth to speak."It can wait until morning. Goodnight, Sherlock Holmes." With that, John shut the door and went to his own room.  
John slept fitfully that night. Even though he knew Sherlock was alive, even though he'd seen him, John still felt that Sherlock could disappear in a moments notice. It terrified him to his very core.  
The next morning, John came down the stairs to the circular table to find Sherlock sitting with Zaria and Raj. He sat down and filled his coffee cup and plate.   
"Morning," John said as he took a sip of his coffee. "where's Marlena?"   
Raj and Zaria exchanged glances, "She hasn't come down yet." Zaria told him.  
They sat and made small talk for about ten minutes, John noticing Sherlock watching him carefully. Finally, Marlena came downstairs for breakfast.  
"Morning," Sherlock told her as she sat down. She hadn't bothered to change her nightclothes. She was dressed in cloth shorts and a button down shirt, her eyes red and puffy. Her dark, curly hair was a mess and sticking up in places. She looked like she hadn't slept a wink.  
"Morning," She said bitterly and stuffed a biscuit in her mouth. She filled her coffee cup up and rubbed her eyes.  
"Did you sleep well?" Sherlock asked her, smiling softly.   
She shot him a look. "Does it look like I slept well?" She whispered angrily, "Because if it does, I didn't. I didn't sleep at all. I was too busy to sleep. Too busy being angry at you for not telling me you were alive. But to answer your question, Sherlock, I didn't sleep well. Thanks for asking."  
Sherlock looked like he was at a loss for words. John stepped in before Marlena could get any angrier.  
"Tell us. Just tell us now, what happened?" John tried to look as calm as possible. Inside, he was about to explode.   
Sherlock looked nervously from John to Marlena, who was fuming. "Moriarty told me that with him alive, they wouldn't kill you, John. That if he was dead, and if I was dead too, they wouldn't kill you. I told you to keep your eyes on me, John. I told you that for a reason. There was a sniper trained at your back. Moriarty put the gun in his mouth before I could do anything. That's when I called you, John. I had to say goodbye.   
"I'd had it planned, that I would fake my own death. I knew I'd need to someday. I had to make you believe I was dead. If not, then Moriarty's men would shoot you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. I couldn't let that happen. I jumped to save you, John. I'm sorry that I lied to you. I had no other choice. I had to wait until I had hunted down all of the snipers.  
"When I learned you were coming to fetch Lee, I knew this was the perfect opportunity to come clean. Lee just killed off all of the assassins after her, now we're all free." Sherlock looked back and forth between them, as though trying to decide which one of them would explode first.   
It was Marlena. "Well, jolly good for you two! How joyful is this? The two best mates, getting back together. I wasn't a part of Moriarty's sceme, Sher! I was in bloody Africa when this started! I wasn't trustworthy enough? Did you think I was too fragile? Or is it because I'm a woman? Actually, I don't care. Glad you're back, Sherlock. Glad you could finally trust me enough to show your face. Oh, by the way, happy four year anniversary." She threw her biscuit at him and sped out to the back yard.   
Zaria stood up to go after her, but Raj pulled her back down. "It's her business, darling. Let her deal with it."   
"It's wierd, but I understand why you didn't tell me. I just don't understand why you didn't tell her." John stood up from his chair and followed Marlena out the back door. He kept his hand to the left hedge, hoping Marlena would be in her barn.  
He found her sitting on the loft, her tan legs dangling over the side. She had a bottle of Jim Beam in her hand, taking small sips of it every few seconds. John climbed up the ladder and sat beside her, gently coercing the bottle from her fingers.  
She sighed heavily and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Am I not trustworthy, John?" She asked sadly.  
"Of course you're trustworthy. Why wouldn't you be?" He asked quietly, leaning his head on hers.  
"I don't know. I always thought I was very responsible. Apparently, Sherlock doesn't think I am." She was tipsy, her breathing becoming heavy.  
"He trusts you. He just didn't want anyone coming after you, that's all. I promise, he trusts you more than anyone."   
"He'd never even told you about me. Didn't tell you I existed." She rubbed her eyes on the back of her hand.   
"I'm sure he had his reasons. Maybe he thought you wouldn't like me." John told her, smiling.  
She laughed quietly. "Who wouldn't like you, John? You're John Watson, most likeable man in the world."   
John laughed with her, "Maybe that's why."  
She sighed. "Maybe. I'm happy he's alive. Ecstatic. I guess I've been so sad for so long I don't know how to be happy any more, John. I always thought that maybe, I could've helped him. Then he wouldn't have killed himself. And then, here he comes, walking and talking. Alive. When I've been dead for four years, he's been alive."   
"I know how you feel. Maybe he just didn't want you to get hurt. Someone might have come after you. I'm glad you punched him, because I'm not sure that I would've done it. He deserved it." John laughed. "It did make my night."   
She laughed along with him. "Yes, I think I broke a knuckle on his cheekbone." She showed him the bruise on her knuckle. "I think I should go sleep off this Jim Beam. Thanks for listening to me, John." She told him, standing up and climbing down the ladder.  
"You too." He told her. John watched her leave, then picked up the bottle for himself. He was leaving for London tomorrow. Did Marlena still want to come with him? Would Sherlock? John didn't know anymore.   
John made his way down the ladder and towards the door of the barn. He entered the maze and turned right to find Sherlock waiting for him. He was sitting on one of the side benches, Marlena's head in his lap.  
Sherlock looked up at him. "She saw me, started yelling, then passed out." He laughed quietly. "Mycroft and I vied for her attention growing up. She was ten years younger than I, seventeen years younger than Mycroft. We both gave her everything we could, but she didn't want our attention. She wanted our mother's. She never got it. I was always there for her. Last time I saw her was when she was eighteen, then she left for the military. She left our prim and proper life behind, and I didn't do anything to stop her. I should have tried harder, but I didn't. I should've known I could trust her." He smoothed Marlena's hair back. "She never could hold her liquor."  
"Maybe she did want your attention, Sherlock. You just never noticed."  
Sherlock smiled up at him, ignoring his comment. "I should've known to trust you, too. If I could go back, I would."   
"Perhaps it's a good thing you can't. If you could, Moriarty never would have died, neither would you, then you would never have spoken to your sister. You'd still be estranged. What good would that do?" As little as John liked to admit it, he was right.  
Sherlock nodded, then picked Marlena up, cradling her against his chest. He carried her through the maze and to the house, John walking beside them. Sherlock carried her to her room and laid her in bed. Immediately, she pulled her blankets around herself, her hair fanning out on the pillow. Sherlock bent down and kissed her forehead, then walked with John out of her room.   
"Are you going to London with us?" John whispered to Sherlock when they were a good distance away from Marlena's room.   
"Yes. Everyone who worked for Moriarty is dead. I think I can come clean."  
"Am I the only one who didn't know? Besides Marlena, I mean." John asked him.  
"Mostly. Anderson isn't aware. Neither is Mycroft. Only people I trusted were told the secret. You were the only one left out. Mainly because I was scared for your life." Sherlock walked into Marlena's wide living room, plopping himself down on the sofa.  
"It took you four years to hunt all three snipers down?" John sat down on the chair opposite of him.  
"No, it took me a few months. I thought you were coping, John. I was just going to let you forget about me. I've kept a close eye on you these past four years. I noticed you've lost a lot of weight, you don't sleep well. At least you still go to your therapist. You've deffinitely made progress." Sherlock gave him an exasperated look. "I tried to make it look as though nothing had been stirred in your flat. I just wanted to see how you were doing."  
"My flat? Sherlock, it's still our flat. Always will be. You're always welcome home." John gave him a reassuring smile. "You thought I wouldn't notice, huh? Does this mean the great Sherlock Holmes is getting rusty? Well, I'll be damned."  
"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" Sherlock laughed.  
"A bit, yes. It'd be nice to know that you're human. Well, it's late. We've a flight in the morning. I'm off to bed. Good night, Sherlock." John gave him one last smile, then walked up the stairs. Before he made it half way up, he heard Sherlock whisper.  
"Human. Sometimes I feel as though I'm anything but." Pausing, John wondered whether he should console his friend, then thought better of it. Sherlock could handle himself. John closed his door behind him and read in his room for the rest of the night. Around eight, he changed into nightclothes, then plopped down on the bed. He fell asleep almost immediately.


	6. Home again.

John woke up to the sound of Marlena and Sherlock fighting. He could hear them all the way from upstairs. He quickly got dressed, and headed down to the dining room.   
"That wouldn't make any sense, Sher. The Illuminati aren't a satanic cult." Marlena was yelling.  
"They're the world's first satanic cult! It makes perfect sense!" Sherlock fired back.  
"They were scientists! They didn't worship the devil, you ass! They were deemed satanic because they didn't follow the Catholic church!"   
"Yes, I know. But they were still called satanic! So, it makes sense."   
Marlena threw up her hands in frustration. "You are the most ignorant man I've ever met! I can't even talk to you half of the time!"   
"Maybe it'd be easier to talk to me if you weren't nursing a hangover." Sherlock shot at her.  
"Maybe I wouldn't have a hangover if my brother didn't push me to the breaking point!" She stopped yelling when she saw John walking down the stairs. "Morning, John. You ready to head to the airport?"   
"Uh, yes. I'm all packed. Everything okay here?" He eyed Sherlock and Marlena cautiously.   
"Yes! Everything's fine now." Sherlock exclaimed, grabbing a biscuit from the table. He offered it to John, who took it, amused.   
"Alright," John laughed, "when are we leaving?"  
"Whenever Marlena finishes packing." Sherlock said, giving her an annoyed look.   
"I was finished packing, until you made me dig out that stupid scarf of yours. I blame you." She said as she waltzed up the stairs.  
"Yes, well, pack for an English summer!" Sherlock called to her before she disappeared around the stairwell.  
Raj entered the stairwell, Zaria close behind him. He set a tray of tea and more biscuits on the table. Then, he and Zaria sat down next to Sherlock.   
Marlena came downstairs, pulling a suitcase behind her. She wore jeans and a t-shirt, a hoodie draped over her shoulder. She had her lace-up boots strung over the other shoulder.  
Marlena sat down in one of the chairs and began tying her shoes. When she finished, she produced a file of papers from her suitcase. She handed the file to Raj and Zaria, a smile on her face.   
"What?" Raj asked her, looking nervous.  
"These papers are legal proof that you own this entire estate. That it belongs to Rajest Patel and his wife, Zaria. It's all paid for, the entire thing. I'm moving back to England for a while. So, I won't be needing this place, I've got another flat set up in London. Just take care of my rose bushes, please? Send me a few sometime. All I need is for you both to sign your names here." She opened the file and pointed to a line. "And this place is off of my shoulders. You deserve it. Have some kids, make me a godmother." She winked at them.  
Raj and Zaria were the poster children for astonishment. Both of their jaws were open, as though the couldn't believe what was happening to them. Raj began stuttering thanks, telling Marlena she didn't have to when Marlena put up a hand.   
"Don't even think of it. You both spend more time here than I do. I sleep in the barn most of the time. Not another word on the subject. Just sign, and I'm gone." Marlena stood up and wheeled her suitcase outside. John and Sherlock followed with their own suitcases. Marlena popped open the hatch of her car, putting her suitcase inside of it. She then grabbed John's and Sherlock's and put them inside as well before shutting it.   
Raj and Zaria sat in the front seat of the car, Zaria turning on the radio as she got in. Marlena sat between John and Sherlock, looking out of all the windows, drinking in her last glances of India.   
"I've lived here for four years. This has been my home for so long. I'm going to miss it. Is England still dreadfully cold?" She asked them.  
"Even colder than you'll remember." Sherlock teased her. She smiled at him, then clasped his hand in hers.   
"Glad you're back, Sher."  
"Me too, Lee."   
John smiled, it was good to see Sherlock and his sister being civil, since all he'd seen was them fighting. Sherlock and Mycroft didn't get along, he and Mycroft were constantly arguing. They were cold toward eachother. At least Sherlock and Marlena had a deeper understanding of one another.   
"I'll admit," Marlena told them as they waited for the plane to ascend. "I'm a little nervous to see everyone again. I haven't seen Mycroft in almost four years, same with mummy. Does she still hate me?"  
"Probably," Sherlock told her. "I heard you two got into a row at my funeral."  
"That was you?" John asked her. "I'd heard yelling at the cemetary, but I never saw who it was."  
"It was us. The old bat yelled at me for wearing my lace-ups. Said it was disrespectful. You always told me you liked them, so I didn't think it was that big of a deal."  
"You haven't spoken to your mother in four years over shoes?" Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Women."   
Marlena fell asleep halfway to England, her head resting on Sherlock's shoulder. She looked much less troubled when she slept, all the sadness cleared from her face. She and Sherlock shared the same, perpetually sad look. They both looked happy when they thought John wasn't watching, but he noticed. He'd noticed from the very beginning that Sherlock did that. He just never told him.  
Sherlock kept a watchful eye over all the passengers the entire ride. He barely blinked, his mind constantly deducing those around him. John had always noted that Sherlock carried an air of guilt about him. John knew he didn't solve cases for entertainment, he knew it served a more significant purpose. Stating that he was bored had to be a cover. Sherlock told John that he didn't have a heart, but John knew that Sherlock Holmes was a deeply emotional man. He was just better at hiding it than John was. Sherlock was always protecting those around him, probably because he'd failed to protect someone in the past. He always kept a tight watch of Marlena. Maybe it was her he'd failed.   
Marlena woke shortly before the plane landed, rubbing her eyes from exhaustion. She gazed out of the window in amazement when they flew over London. She looked like a small child, nearly bursting from excitement.   
After leaving the airport, they caught a cab to 221B Baker Street. The first thing Sherlock did was throw his suitcase inside, and run downstairs to see Mrs. Hudson.  
"Sherlock!" She exclaimed happily. "I've missed you so." Then she slapped him. "Do you know the sort of pain you've caused that young man? Moping around constantly, some nights all I can hear is him pacing in that living room."  
"Yes, I know Mrs. Hudson." He smiled sadly at her. "But now he knows I'm alive. I have a suprise for you." Sherlock pulled Marlena from behind him and pushed her towards Mrs. Hudson.  
"Well, I'll be damned. Marlena Holmes? In the flesh? I haven't seen you in half a decade, young lady." She hugged Marlena tightly. "How've you been, dear?"  
"Good, India treats the soul well. I'll tell you, Mrs. Hudson. I've missed your cooking more than you could imagine. Zaria is a great cook, but nothing compared to you." She mock-bowed to Mrs. Hudson and hugged her again.  
All four of them spent the night catching up, where they'd been, what they'd done. John learned a lot about Marlena that night. How she doesn't like speaking of herself often, just like Sherlock. She bit her lip when she was thinking, and she loved to read. All of the books in Mrs. Hudson's flat were Marlena's, given to Mrs. Hudson for safe keeping. Many of the books in Sherlock and John's flat were Marlena's too. She'd read almost everything, from Tolstoy to James Patterson. If it had a hard-bound cover, she'd read it.   
Around three in the morning, Marlena announced that she was ready to retire. She went upstairs and fell asleep on the couch. When John and Sherlock came upstairs, Sherlock picked her up and carried her to his bed, then took his place on the couch. John offered to take it, but Sherlock protested.   
"I haven't slept on this couch in four years, John. I've missed it." With that, he threw himself down onto it and closed his eyes.  
When John woke up the next morning, he made some coffee and retrieved the newspaper. He was reading the it when he noticed Sherlock, sleeping on the couch. It was still odd to see his friend sleeping there, since he'd thought him dead for the last four years. But today, that's not what was peculiar. On Sherlock's forehead was a pink piece of folded paper. It was from Marlena.  
Went to the Market for you two. You boys have nothing in your icebox! It's a wonder that you've survived this long. I'm moving into my new flat today. It's not far from 221B. I'll give you the address later, when I've got it memorized. You two need to meet me at Scotland Yard today at one. Get some food in your stomachs, Zaria's not here to feed you anymore! -Lee   
John pulled it from Sherlock's forehead and woke him up. He threw it to him, then went to the icebox to see what Marlena had bought. There were apples and bananas in bags, also some eggs. She'd taken the liberty of cleaning the icebox out, too. There were no frozen dinners inside anymore, but fresh food. Marlena had put little post-it notes on some of the food, giving them ideas as to what they could make.   
"She likes to take care of people." Shelock said from behind him. He folded the note and put it on the table. "Surely, you've noticed?"  
"Yes," John told him, remembering Raj and Zaria. "She's like you, too, though. People secretly help her survive, Raj and Zaria told me they put food in places she'd pick them up. That way she'd get some form of nutrition. What is it with you geniuses? Don't you ever eat?" He joked.  
Sherlock nodded, "Yes, you did keep me going. I don't think I would have even showered if you hadn't been there to motivate me."   
John checked his watch, it was eleven. He quickly hopped in the shower, then, while Sherlock took his shower, made an early lunch. He and Sherlock ate, talking to eachother as though Sherlock hadn't just come back from the dead. It was heartwarming, to know they could still be best friends, even though Sherlock had broken John's heart by jumping off St. Bart's roof.   
At half past noon, they left for Scotland Yard. They arrived early, giving John some time to get Marlena's file togther, to give back to Lestrade. John noticed that Sherlock seemed nervous to go inside. It was the closest thing to fear he'd seen in Sherlock's eyes.   
John squeezed Sherlock's shoulder, "You'll be fine."   
They made their way into Scotland Yard, heading up to Lestrade's office. When they stepped out of the elevator, they were greeted with astonished faces. Sherlock kept his head up and nodded and smiled to everyone, as though he'd been there every day for years.  
When they entered Lestrade's office, Marlena was already inside. She was laughing with a girl a few inches taller than herself, with light brown hair and big brown eyes. Molly Hooper. Anderson and Sally were speaking with Lestrade, their backs to the door. Everyone turned when Sherlock and John entered.   
Anderson gave a yell of suprise. Molly, a small astonished squeek. Sally muttered something like, “The freak is back.”Lestrade shook his hand and motioned for them all to sit down.   
"How? Wha-how?" Anderson kept sputtering.  
John knew Sherlock was trying to not be rude. "A magic trick, Anderson. Magic."   
"I'd known you'd come back, but I didn't know it'd be so soon." Molly smiled at Sherlock and awkwardly hugged him. "Your sister is way cooler than you, by the way."  
"Yes, I've been told." Sherlock smiled.  
"Well, it's nice to have you back, Mr. Holmes." Lestrade began. "I'm glad you brought Marlena back, John."  
"I can handle myself, by the way." Marlena told Lestrade. "I know how to deal with assassins. I'm not a child. It's nothing I haven't dealt with before.”  
"I know, but this was the only way to get you back."Lestrade smiled at her. "Besides, I killed two birds with one stone, told you and John that Sherlock was alive at the same time."  
"Why'd you want me back, Greg?" Marlena asked him. "Someone you want me pop off?" She smiled.   
Molly's eyes widened with horror. "You're an assassin? Oh, Lestrade, you can't make her kill someone!"  
Lestrade laughed. "I'm not. I just need her here for the time being. Marlena, I want you consulting on a few cases, for the guys upstairs. They've asked for you."  
"Great." Marlena mumbled. "I'll turn into a corporate monkey."  
Lestrade ignored her, and turned to Sherlock. "You've gotten rid of the snipers, yes?"  
"Correct."  
"Then you'll come back to work here. No one's in danger anymore. Glad to have you all back." He turned to Molly and Anderson. "I just wanted to see the looks on your faces when he returned. You're all dismissed." He stood up and grabbed Marlena by the wrist. "Except you, Ms. Holmes. I've got business to discuss with you."   
Marlena scowled and sat down again, looking like a scolded child. Everyone else left the office. Anderson immediately retreated as far away from Sherlock as he could. Sherlock didn't mind. Molly apologized, she had to go back to the lab. John and Sherlock made small talk with the secretaries while Marlena spoke with Lestrade.   
Marlena spoke with Lestrade for about an hour and a half, during which Sherlock and John left for some tea. When she left the office, she was flustered. Marlena kept an angry silence the entire way to her new flat, then cheered up when she showed them around.   
It had two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen and sitting room. It wasn't much different than Sherlock and John's, except that it had TARDIS blue walls. As it turned out, Marlena was a big Doctor Who fan. She had a large collection of Doctor Who coffee mugs. She told John that one of her proudest moments was meeting David Tennant.   
"Your proudest moment isn't when you gave billions to the hunger relief fund?" Sherlock joked with her.   
"Anyone can give money to the hungry, Sherlock. It's a matter of will. I ran into David Tennant when I was at a supermarket in London. A pure chance-happening. Not everyone gets to meet The Doctor!" She smiled.  
"Maybe David Tennant's proudest moment was meeting Marlena Holmes." Sherlock told her.  
"I only wish." Marlena laughed, her eyes filled with amusement. John and Sherlock stayed for about an hour, helping her unpack, joking around as they did so. They stayed for dinner and left later that night. When they returned to 221B Baker street, John and Sherlock unpacked Sherlock's room, officially welcoming him home.


	7. Marlena's gone.

A few months later, around seven in the morning, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes were fast asleep. The night before had been spent drinking with the detectives at the pub. The pair would have slept in much, much later had Marlena not come barging into their flat.   
"Get up! Wakey, wakey!" She yelled as she entered, throwing John's bedroom door open. "Get up, John! Now!"   
John heard her pull Sherlock out of his bed, Sherlock hitting the ground loudly.  
"Owch! Damnit, Lee! It's too early!" He heard Sherlock yell. John's head pounded, it was going to be a long day.   
"Get up! I've some news to share!" She yelled happily. John heard her coming into his room and quickly pulled the covers over his head.   
Marlena opened his shutters and turned on his bedroom light. She then ripped the blankets mercilessly off of him.  
"Get up! Get some clothes on, you two!" She laughed and left his room. John heard her start the coffee pot, making as much noise as she could.  
John reluctantly got out of bed. Slowly, he pulled on his robe. He trudged out of his room like a wounded soldier, rubbing his eyes as he went. John saw Sherlock sitting at the dining room table with his head in his hands.  
"You couldn't wait until noon?" John asked her.   
"No! I've got some news to share." Someone probably died. Marlena always got excited when there was murder involved. She was too much like her brother.   
"Who died?" Sherlock asked sluggishly.  
“No one. Zaria called me last week.” Marlena told them as she pulled a skillet from the cabinet and cracked an egg over the side.   
“Your point?” Sherlock asked, unenthused.  
“She's going to have a baby. She told me she's five months along.” Marlena smiled to herself and flipped the egg.  
“If she's your best friend, why didn't she tell you she was pregnant before this? I could see not knowing she was pregnant until she was two months along, but five...?” Sherlock taunted her.  
Marlena turned to look at him, “She was trying to figure out if she should keep it or not.”  
Sherlock backed down. “Well, congratulations to her.”   
Marlena slid the egg off the skillet and onto a plate. She then deposited the plate on the table in front of John, immediately turning around to make another for Sherlock.   
“Is it a boy or a girl?” John asked, trying to ease the tension in the room.  
“A girl. Raj and Zaria asked me to be the godmother.” Marlena's smile broadened, her eyes filled with happiness. She gave Sherlock his eggs and poured herself some coffee.   
Marlena sat down at the table with them and made small talk. She was about to ask a question when her phone rang. Looking at them angrily, Marlena answered.  
“Hello. Marlena Holmes.” Marlena's eyes widened and she started talking quickly. She stood up from the table and went into the other room. John and Sherlock looked at eachother and returned to their breakfast.   
Marlena had gotten calls like this for months. Her phone would ring, then she'd run into the other room. John and Sherlock had gotten used to it. They just figured it was a boyfriend, or a gossipy friend.   
When Marlena returned to the kitchen, she announced that she was leaving, she had to head to the office. She waved goodbye and left, leaving the front door open behind her.   
An hour or two later, John and Sherlock changed out of their night clothes and left for the Yard. They spent the day working on easy cases, not really putting much effort into them. As they were leaving for the day, Lestrade met them before they stepped on the elevator, a grave expression on his face.  
“Follow me.” He made a motion with his fingers and walked to his office. He firmly closed the door behind them and sat behind his desk. He sighed loudly and knitted his fingers together.   
“You seem stressed.” Sherlock told him.   
Lestrade glanced up at him, a look of pure annoyance spread across his features. “I am stressed, Sherlock. Where is your sister?”   
Sherlock sat up in his chair. “She told me she was coming here.”  
“When?”  
“About ten hours ago.” Sherlock leaned forward. “What is this about, Lestrade?”  
“She didn't come to work. You said the last time you spoke was ten hours ago?” Lestrade asked.  
“Yes, that's when she left our flat.”   
“No one's heard from her since then. Normally, I wouldn't be nervous. But she's been working on a case...”  
“You put my sister on a case that could be dangerous to her?” Sherlock asked angrily.  
“Every case she works is dangerous! She's been working on a drug operation. I know we shouldn't have her on this, but she's a career, and she knows how the system works. We've had her infiltrate a drug ring.” Lestrade looked even more nervous than before.  
“Drugs? You know she shouldn't be near that!” Sherlock's face was a mask of pure rage.  
“Wait,” John interrupted. “why shouldn't she be near drugs?”  
Lestrade turned toward John, eyeing Sherlock as he spoke. “She's an addict. Heroin. If she's off the grid, she's most likely overdosed or she's meeting a dealer. We haven't been able to get a hold of her, and no one's seen her in over fifteen hours besides you two. If her cover's been blown, they'll kill her.”  
John turned to Sherlock, who was also an addict. “Does she do it to sharpen her mind? Not for the pleasure of the high?” Sherlock nodded.  
“She does it to think better, she told me it helps her sleep well.” Sherlock stood up anxiously. “We need to check her apartment.”  
Lestrade nodded. “Go. I hope, for her sake, that she's fine.”   
Sherlock hailed a cab and directed him to Marlena's apartment, his hands wringing in his lap the entire way. John was nervous. He'd never known that Marlena was an addict, but he should've. Now, John remembered that night Marlena killed Q, the day after he'd met her. While they were speeding away in the cab, her hands were shaking. Probably from withdrawal. Marlena's phone calls, they were probably from a dealer. Marlena often disappeared for hours at a time, not picking up her phone or answering her doorbell. How didn't John notice the signs?  
“Marlena's a career junkie.” Sherlock told John as they stepped out of the cab. “She probably hasn't overdosed. I normally wouldn't be nervous, but with what Lestrade said, and the wierd phone calls she's been recieving...” Sherlock sighed. “I just hope she isn't in trouble.”  
Sherlock stepped up to the door bell and rang it. No answer. He rang again, no answer. Sherlock was becoming frantic, his actions becoming more desperate. Suddenly, Sherlock pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and dialed a number.  
“Yes, Mycroft Holmes, please.” He said as he held the phone to his ear. “It's Sherlock, I need you to track Marlena's phone for me.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Never mind why, just tell me where her bloody phone is.”   
John could hear Mycroft's voice asking Sherlock questions. “Damnit Mycroft, she's missing and I need to find her.” John heard Mycroft's cry of outrage, then the typing of a keyboard. Sherlock mumbled thanks, then hung up. “He says her phone is in her apartment, but she could be anywhere.”   
Sherlock produced a small black box from his coat, and pulled two long metal instruments from it. He stepped up to the door of Marlena's apartment building and began to pick the lock. After a few seconds, there was a low click, and Sherlock pushed open the door. Motioning for John to follow him, he ran up the stairs. John followed close behind, praying that Marlena would be inside her apartment.   
When they reached the top of the stairs, John stopped dead in his tracks. Marlena's apartment door was open, blood covering the handle. Sherlock tentatively pushed it open, a worried look on his face. John could tell Sherlock was struggling to keep his frustration in check. Stepping inside the apartment, they both took in the scene before them. The apartment was a mess. The television set was on the floor, its screen shattered. The couch had been ripped apart by a knife of sorts, the stuffing littering the floor. John made for Marlena's room, hoping she'd be there. When he stepped inside, his heart stopped.   
Marlena's queen sized bed was covered in blood, the white sheets stained a crimson red. Clothes were strewn all over, covering most of the floor. There was a puddle of blood in one corner of the room, a lamp lying across it. Marlena's closet doors were open, as were her dresser drawers. On the wall behind the bed was a large “Q” drawn in blood. There was blood, yes, but no Marlena. John winced as he heard Sherlock come up behind him.  
“Th-there's too much blood here for someone to be alive. But, if she was dead, why not just leave her body?” John could practically see the gears turning in Sherlock's head. “She's not dead. Some of this blood may be hers, but not all of it. She was most likely ambushed, three or four assailants by the look of it. She hit one with a sharp object,” Sherlock bent down and picked up a bloody shard of a mirror and handed it to John, who examined it. “Causing him to bleed profusely. She put up a very big fight, she probably killed one of the assailants. If this is a drug cartel, they most likely came and removed the body. She wounded the other three, hence more blood. Then, they most likely hit her with the lamp, and carried her out.” Sherlock pointed at the bloody lamp in the corner, then at the door. He then called Lestrade to process the scene.  
“Sherlock,” John didn't know what to say. “we're going to find her. We have to.” When Sherlock didn't answer him, John put a hand on his shoulder. “She's too much like you to let some drug dealers kill her. It's too boring .”   
Sherlock smiled slightly, then looked at John, his expression hardening. “Thanks John, but her stash is still here. If they didn't bother to take it, they're most likely going to force her into withdrawal. They're going to torture her.” Sherlock walked to the bathroom, then opened the medicine cabinet. He felt around uner the top shelf, opening a small compartment. He produced two needles and a small bag filled with white powder from the compartment. Sherlock put them in a larger bag, then put the bag in his coat. He closed the compartment and the cabinet, then led John out of the apartment.   
“If the police found her stash, she wouldn't be able to keep her job. We've got to find her, and soon. Q is the man she killed that night, isn't he?”  
John nodded. “I'm almost sure it was a head shot, I just can't quite remember right now...” If Q wasn't dead, just wounded, this could be revenge. Marlena would deffinitely be tortured before being killed.


	8. Marlena's back.

Just as they stepped out of the apartment building, a town car pulled alongside the curb. Out of the car stepped Mycroft Holmes, flanked by Anthea. Tall and imposing, Mycroft was larger than Sherlock, who was only just starting to gain back the weight he'd lost. Mycroft hadn't spoken to Sherlock since his return, angry that he hadn't been informed of Sherlock's fake suicide. Mycroft and Sherlock both felt more for their sister than with eachother. The only thing that seemed to bring them together was Marlena.   
“Is she there?” Mycroft asked, without greeting them. “Is she okay?”  
John shook his head, for Sherlock didn't seem to want to talk. “She's not there.” He put a hand on Mycroft's shoulder. “You don't want to go in there. It's messy. Atleast wait for Lestrade.” John added when Mycroft headed for the door anyway.  
Mycroft angrily turned to Sherlock. “You had better find her. She had better be okay and she had better not have a scratch on her.” He poked Sherlock in the chest. “She's the only one of us who has a chance. She's the only one of us who isn't permanently damaged. I just want her back safe and sound.”  
“What can I do to make you stop hating me?” Sherlock asked him.   
“Find her.” Mycroft told him, his voice slightly shaking. “Find her and bring her back safely, more safe last time.”   
John saw Sherlock stiffen as Mycroft said his last words, but new better than to ask why. He'd ask later, when they weren't around the entire police squad.  
After speaking with Lestrade about what they'd seen, and telling him about Q, John and Sherlock headed back to their flat. Sherlock was definitely nervous, his hands absentmindedly touching the bag in his pocket. He probably needed a cigarette. John had gotten Sherlock down to a maximum of two a day. John wasn't aware if he did it any more than that. All John cared about was that Sherlock wasn't as bad as that day he'd come back.  
The day Sherlock came back he looked like hell. He'd lost more weight than John and the bags under his eyes had looked like bruises. Sherlock's well known cheekbones were more prominent than usual. Now, he'd gained some of his weight back, he was finally looking healthy again.  
“What happened... last time?” John asked tentatively, not wanting to upset Sherlock anymore.  
At first, John thought Sherlock hadn't heard him, but then he turned to him. “I'm the world's only consulting detective. The man who notices anything and everything. When Marlena was eighteen, two years before I met you, she was living with this guy. They'd been dating for about two years and I thought they were happy. I'd neglected to notice that he was hitting her every night.” Sherlock took a deep breath. “I only noticed the night she snuck out of their flat and came to me, begging me for help. She joined the military a month or two afterwards, not wanting to stay anywhere near London.”  
John couldn't see Marlena letting someone hurt her, but it made him angry to think of it. Marlena was one of the greatest people he knew. She tried to listen to people, to hear what they had to say. She was as nice as she could be to others. She gave almost every penny she earned to the poor. She rarely complained and she tried to make everyone around her feel good about themselves. The only person Marlena had ever been short with was Sherlock, but that was sibling anger, nothing more. John knew she had a rough relationship with her mother, and Mycroft always doted on her, even if he didn't do it around people. John knew they had a close relationship, too. Marlena and John spoke often, they joked and laughed for hours.   
Marlena would listen to John complain about life and his flatmate, then give her input, trying to make him feel better. She never made a converstation focus on herself, it made her uncomfortable to be in the spotlight. The only time John had seen her in the spotlight was when she sang. She had a magnificent voice, and she sang at a club that she owned. It was a Burlesque lounge called The Bird Cage, and John and Sherlock went often to listen to her sing.  
“There's no way she was mad at you for not noticing. Abuse victims generally hide the abuse from family members.” John told him, knowing from experience. “She most likely left because she wanted to build herself up.”  
“She did.” Sherlock said. “She wanted to become a stronger person, which is beyond my understanding. She's always been a very independent person. Never had us do anything for her, though Mycroft and I offered.” He smiled as he thought of his sister. “Lee just wanted to get away from this life, I think. When she was done in the military, she moved to Africa for a while, then back to London.  
“I think I ruined London for her for good. She was only back for two weeks when I jumped off of St. Barts. She moved to India as soon as my funeral was over. I know she doesn't like it here, but she does her best work from the London offices. I don't even know what her occupation is, honestly. It's as shady as Mycroft's line of work.” Sherlock stood up and moved to his couch, plopping himself down on it.   
“You don't know your siblings' occupations?” John asked incredulously.  
“No. Why would I? They go off on their own, explore the world by themselves. Just like us. I just never asked.” Sherlock looked at him. “What does Harriet do?”  
“She drinks.” John said, looking away. He'd never gotten along with his sister, and he didn't like her drinking.   
“Sorry, John. Should've known not to bring that up. Look, Marlena does covert jobs. She's probably for hire, for all I know. She's an excellent shot.”  
“Yes,” John told him. “I read her file. There wasn't much in it, besides her accomplishments. Nothing on her personal life.”  
“I don't even know much about her personal life. I've also been out of the picture for quite some time.” Sherlock closed his eyes and put his fingertips together.  
“What did Mycroft mean... when he said he wanted her back safely this time?” John asked cautiously.  
Sherlock stiffened, his eye lids tightened. He sighed deeply then spoke. “She was in Afghanistan.”  
“Yes, I know.”   
“She was a P.O.W. in Afghanistan for eight months. It was during her third tour. I'm the one who encouraged her to go. She wasn't sure if the military was right for her. Naturally, I didn't want her to go. It was her dream, though, to do something of importance. She didn't think that discovering treasures, or giving money to the poor was enough.” Sherlock clenched his fists. “Marlena never told me what was done to her in the camp, but the doctors said she was excessively tortured. She's never spoken of it to anyone.”  
Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up, looking at John. “She was the only one of us who wasn't messed up. The only one who was still capable of falling in love, or having good relationships with people. Now, she doesn't trust anyone, with the exception of a few people. Marlena doesn't get close with anyone. She sees caring as a disadvantage. I've seen the scars on her back, John. What she went through was more horrible than I can imagine. And I'm the one who talked her into going. I'm the reason she's got these walls built up around her.”  
“What do you mean it's your fault? It was her decision to join the military. She knew what could possibly happen to her, she isn't stupid. Marlena's one of the smartest people I know. I know she analyzed all of the facts, worked through every possibility in her head. While she was in that camp, every day I bet she was trying to escape. I bet that not once did the thought that it was Sherlock's fault cross her mind. There is no way in hell that it is your fault. If her being captured was your fault, then it's equally Mycroft's as well. He's the British government, isn't he? He could have done something to save her. Don't you dare for a second think that this is your fault, because I know for a fact that Marlena doesn't blame you.” John stood up as he spoke, putting a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock always had to take care of everyone, John knew. Sherlock had always taken care of John, and John had always taken care of Sherlock. Sherlock hardly took care of himself, he hardly even ate.   
“She came back a shell of her former self.” Sherlock said, ignoring John. “Marlena used to be so happy and talkative. She smiled all the time, laughed incessantly. I used to find it so annoying, now I miss it. Raj told me she hardly smiled in India. He told me she stayed in her workshop from sun up to sundown. She only ate when they forced her to. She didn't not eat because of a self-image thing either, she just forgets to do it.”  
John tried for most of the night to make Sherlock realize that Marlena's captivity wasn't his fault, but he wouldn't listen. Sherlock eventually stopped talking altogether and began playing his violin. He played angry tunes, the melodies becoming fast and violent. Sherlock didn't stop playing until four a.m., finally retiring to the couch in the sitting room.   
The next two mornings, Mycroft came over for breakfast, hoping to help with finding Marlena. They were drinking coffee and coming up with theories when Mrs. Hudson began yelling from the front door.  
“Boys! Come down here now! Call the police! An ambulance! Help!” She yelled.  
They all gave eachother a look and ran down the stairs. In the street, Mrs. Hudson was huddled over a black mass of clothes in the street, crying. John thought it was a dog at first, but then he saw the curly hair, and a tan hand peeking out from under the dark coat. Marlena.


	9. Affection coming to surface.

John quickly pulled out his phone and called Lestrade. “I need an ambulance at 221B Baker Street. No, I don't know if she's dead. It's Marlena. Yes! I need an ambulance NOW!” John yelled into the phone. He then rushed to Marlena's body. Mycroft and Sherlock were staring at the girl in shock, neither of them moving from the sidewalk.   
John turned Marlena over. Her hair was in front of her eyes and John saw blood on her neck. He checked for a pulse. It was faint, but still there! John felt a sudden surge of hope, Marlena was going to make it. He pulled the coat off her to see that she was dressed in cloth shorts and a tank top. Her arms and legs were covered in blood, but John couldn't find a wound. He ran his hand along her back to feel for split skin. He felt a large, long cut along her leg, the blood darker and flowing faster from it. It looked like her femoral artery. If it wasn't tied off soon Marlena would bleed to death.   
John quickly took off his coat and tied it tightly around Marlena's leg. As he was doing so, her hair moved from her face. Her high cheekbones were covered in bruises, and she had a cut over her right eye. It made John angry to see that someone hit her. How could someone even want to beat Marlena? Her eye lids were fluttering, she was trying to stay conscious. Marlena wasn't speaking, but John could see her lips moving.   
“Sherlock!” He yelled. Sherlock and Mycroft both ripped their eyes from Marlena. They both finally flew into action. “Keep the coat tied tightly around her leg. Mycroft, hold her head and make sure she keeps breathing.” The two brothers didn't speak, they were both too afraid for their sister. John saw it then, their caring sides. They fought with eachother incessantly, but their love for their sister was very prominent in this hour of need. They didn't fight, just worked together, talking to Marlena. They both whispered calming things to her, trying to keep her awake. “Don't let her fall asleep. Try to keep her eyes open.” John told them and went back to checking Marlena for other wounds.   
Marlena didn't seem to have any other major wounds except for one. John now saw that there was a small dagger protruding from her right shoulder. He decided against removing it and made Mycroft take off his coat, for it was longer and bigger. He carefully wrapped it around the knife wound, making sure to keep it in place. Removing it could lead to more blood loss. John gave a sigh of relief when he finally heard the sirens.   
Lestrade gasped when he stepped out of his car, rushing to Marlena to see that she was still breathing.   
“How did she get here?” He asked. Mrs. Hudson turned to him, teary eyed.  
“I was getting the newspaper when a black van drove by. It stopped and the back doors opened. Two men pushed her out of the doors and then they drove off.”   
“How many people did you see total?” Lestrade grabbed her hand, trying to keep her calm.   
“Three. The driver, and the two men who threw her into the street. There could have been more, but that's all I saw.” She started sobbing into Lestrade's shoulder.   
John helped the MT's load Marlena into the ambulance. When she was comfortably set, one of the MT's stopped John before they left.  
“Did you wrap her up?” The young man asked him.  
“Yes.” John told him.  
“Good.” The man patted him on the shoulder. “If you hadn't, she could have bled out much more quickly. You saved her life.” The man nodded at him, then hopped into the back of the ambulance. When they drove away, John called a cab and loaded Mycroft and Sherlock into it.   
Neither of them spoke, both in shock after seeing their sister in such a state. John finally broke the silence.  
“She's going to be fine.” He said as he awkwardly sat between the two brothers. All three of them were covered in blood, the cabbie eyed them, a look of fear on his features.  
“Yes. Her body will.” Mycroft sighed. “What about her, though? She'll most likely become like us, Sherlock.”  
Sherlock sat with his hands in his lap. “Yes, I know. Believe me, I know.”  
John looked at them both. “Have you two not met Marlena?” He asked, they both turned toward him in surprise. “She's one of the nicest people I know. She laughs all the time. I know you say that after Afghanistan she doesn't laugh as much, but she's still happier than half the people I know. She makes the best out of a bad situation. That girl is the only person I know who could survive something like this and still smile every day.”  
“Why did he leave her alive?” Sherlock asked out loud. “Q hated her, he'd want to kill her. He wouldn't let her live, no matter how badly she was injured.”  
“Maybe he changed his mind?” John asked, knowing he was wrong.  
“No, it means Q didn't do this. He was waiting for us, but I know Marlena got a head shot. She's one of the best shooters I know. He deffinitely died that night. Some one just used that as a way to ward off the police.”  
“Who are some of her enemies? Could someone who hates one of us have done this to her?” Mycroft asked Sherlock.  
“It's entirely plausible that it's someone any of us pissed off. All three of us have enemies that would do this. But, since she was left alive, I'd have to think that it was one of our enemies.”  
“Yes, but who? We certainly didn't broadcast that Lee killed Q. We've hardly told anyone that she's our sister.” Mycroft wondered outloud.   
“Perhaps... who do you know who used a knife?” Sherlock asked Myrcoft.  
Mrcryoft scoffed. “Plenty of people.”  
“Yes, but that knife in her shoulder. It was intricately designed, the handle had to be custom made. It was small, too. It wasn't the type of knife a man would use. Only a woman would use such a small knife like that. I'll have to get a better look at it when they remove it. You'll pull some strings?” Sherlock asked Mycroft.  
“Of course I will.”

When they arrived at the hospital, John saw the medics rolling Marlena to surgery. John had to hold Sherlock and Mycroft by the arms to stop them from following her. John stayed in the waiting room while Sherlock, Mycroft and Lestrade left for the lab to examine the coat Marlena was found in.  
After a few hours, John fell asleep in the waiting room, exhausted from the day. He was sure he was a sight to see, being covered in blood and all. When he awoke, Sherlock and Mycroft were sitting on either side of him. Lestrade, Anderson and Sally were in the waiting room, too.   
“Is she done yet?” John asked to break the agonizing silence.   
“She should be soon.” Sally told him. John had never like Sally, but he knew the Sally liked Marlena. Marlena got along with Sally, but scolded her anytime Sally made a rude remark about Sherlock.   
Two hours later, an older Italian man entered the waiting room. He was wearing scrubs, traces of blood present behind his smock that he wore over them. He put on a pair of glasses and asked for Marlena's family.  
Sherlock and Mycroft stood up immediately, John following close behind. The doctor lowered his voice and looked at Sherlock gravely.  
“Marlena's going to be fine. She'll take a bit to heal all the way. The knife didn't penetrate too deeply. The wound in her leg nicked her femoral artery, that one will take a little longer to heal. They deffinitely didn't waste any time beating her.” The doctor leaned in close to them, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now, Marlena had a large amout of heroin in her system. Granted, it looked as though she was going through some sort of withdrawal. Since she's helped me out of more than a few situations, I may have switched her tox screen for a clean one. She can't shoot up with the medication we're going to give her. Use this as an opportunity to get her clean. Move her in with you if you have to. Make sure she doesn't get addicted to anything else while your at it. I find that nicotene patches help keep the nerves at bay.”  
“Will we be able to look at the knife?” Sherlock asked the doctor, his eyes filled with the meniacle look he always got when on a case.  
“Yes, I'll have it sent to the lab. Molly Hooper will see that it is properly taken care of. You can see Marlena tomorrow, for now she's in recovery.” With a nod of his head, the doctor turned around and went back to the surgery wing.   
Sherlock told Lestrade, Anderson and Sally that Marlena would be fine, leaving out the part about her drug abuse. He then told them he would be in the lab, and bid them goodnight. Mycroft left for his office, saying he knew Sherlock could handle it.  
John and Sherlock headed down to the lab. Molly was waiting there for them, the evidence bag in her hand. She handed it to Sherlock, stating that she set up his microscope for him.  
“I heard about Marlena, I'm sorry.” Molly stammered awkwardly and sat down across from Sherlock. “The knife looks handmade, the stitching isn't anything I've ever seen on a sewing machine.”  
Sherlock looked up, “Very good, Molly. It's deffinitely handmade. A woman's no doubt. There are nail marks in the leather, it's especially made for this woman's hand.”  
Molly sputtered thanks, then almost succeeded in spilling her coffee. John reached over the table and grabbed her cup just before her elbow made contact. Molly muttered thank you, then grabbed her cup and moved it safetly out of her reach.   
The blade of the knife was six inches long, silver and white, decorated with entwining ivy and roses. It was thin and sharper than a razor. The handle was made of thin black leather. It's stitching was indeed done by hand. The leather was bound with ivy patterned stitching. Sherlock studied it under the magnifying glass, hardly blinking. John could see the bruises underneath Sherlock's eyes. Neither of them had slept much since Marlena's disappearance, Sherlock probably hadn't slept at all.  
“This knife wasn't left there by accident.” Sherlock stated, not saying about where it was left. “It's a message. The coat we found Marlena in had an ivy vine and rose inside one of the pockets. I can't recall anyone with that calling card. May be someone Mycroft slept with, for all I know. Certainly not anyone I was ever with.” Sherlock bit his cheek absentmindedly, his mind looking desperately for answers.  
“If it's a calling card, I know whose it is.” John spoke up. Sherlock looked up at him in surprise. “We tracked her in Afghanistan. We detained her just before Marlena escaped from the camp.” Everything started clicking in John's mind. “I remember when Marlena was found, she told the Commanding Officers where the camp was. She freed hundreds of P.O.W.'s, I was on one of the teams that infiltrated the camp. It's where I was shot.”  
Sherlock jumped up from his stool and sped around the table to John. “You've met my sister before India?”   
“No,” John shook his head. “I heard of her before. Not her name, but her story. No one thinks much of someone who's gone M.I.A., it happens often, someone died and we couldn't find the body. Or someone deserted and was lost in the process. We were in the mess hall when we got the call that a P.O.W. Had been found and we were given coordinates of the camp. There were over two hundred soldiers freed that day. Marlena was given awards and medals. She was the first soldier to publicly throw away her medals. It was quite a scandal, I remember reading about it while in recovery before being sent home.”  
“Who's calling card is it?”   
“Her name is Kingsley O'Connor.” Marlena stated as she limped into the lab, a hospital intern following close behind her. Her face was bruised and contorted in pain. Her leg was in a stint, she had a crutch under one arm, the other arm was taped and gauzed. She'd changed out of a hospital gown and into sweat pants and a tank top. She sat next to Sherlock on a stool, the intern sat next to her, trying to attatch an IV to her arm. “She's an international arms dealer, first class psychopath, and thief. She was arrested in Afghanistan and escaped two months ago from a high security prison in Russia. She was being transferred to her home country, Ireland. I'm the one who built up the case against her before I was imprisoned in the camp.” Marlena's dark hair was down, her curls framing her bruised face, her green eyes blazing.  
Sherlock pressed his lips to her forehead, then held her hand encouragingly. “She did this to you.”  
“Yes, and I'm going to kill the bitch when I find her.” Marlena looked at John and gave him a small smile, then gave a small cry of pain. She turned to the intern, who had finally suceeded in holding her arm down and inserting the IV.  
“If you would stand still, that wouldn't have hurt. Don't strain yourself, you'll hurt yourself further.” The intern looked at her knowingly, then left the room. Marlena's glare followed him out the door.  
“I understand why she'd hate you, but why leave you alive?” Sherlock asked her.  
“To send you a message.” Marlena locked eyes on John. “She knows that we know eachother. Knows you were part of the team that took her down. She's coming for you, John.”


End file.
